


Please Just Save Me From This Darkness

by t0bemadeofglass



Series: Mini Prompts [1]
Category: Marvel (Movies), The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mind fuckery, Pheels, Post Avengers (Movie), phlint - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-12
Updated: 2013-04-12
Packaged: 2017-12-08 06:27:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/758148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/t0bemadeofglass/pseuds/t0bemadeofglass
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"There were some days Clint knew he just needed to spend on his own; this was one of them." </p>
<p>In which Clint dwells upon what Loki made him before and up to the attack on Manhattan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Please Just Save Me From This Darkness

**Author's Note:**

> Song title comes from the song Make This Go on Forever by Snow Patrol.   
> That song gives me such feels.

There were some days Clint knew he just needed to spend on his own; this was one of them.  He kept up a good face when he had to, commenting on how ridiculous Tony looked with his neck littered with hickeys like a leopard while Steve just flushed in his embarrassment, but it was times like these--alone, in his nest--he could let the facade drop.  Breathe.  Frown.  Sink into the mire of his thoughts and curl into himself as he felt his lungs expand and contract with the deep breaths he’d grown familiar with after years of needing to calm himself down (after all, how can someone be the best marksman in the world if they can’t learn how to breathe properly?)  

His mind tended to go to the darkest of places, whether or not he wanted them to, and after struggling with it for months he learned to stop fighting the memories.  It was easier to just let them wash over him, anyway, drag him down to the depths for a little torture before he could flush it out of his system so he could go back downstairs and joke around again, a new man with his worries pushed to the back of his mind.  At least until they crashed around him again, the weight of them too much for his shoulders and back to bare.  He was only human after all.

Most days he revisited his time spent under Loki’s command.  He thought these memories might have gone away after time, or even that it would have been easier to confront now that the god seemed to be spending more time around the Avengers.  His brother was bound and determined to get the bastard back to his former, apparently good self.  Horse shit.  Thor was looking to keep his little brother out of trouble and thought that forcing his friends upon the little brat it might teach the sorcerer some good.  

It was a technique that Cint knew all too well.

No matter what Thor or Clint thought, however, it doesn’t seem to help.  The memories come back, as hard and sharp as the tip of the scepter pointed to his chest and as final as the tide of black water that washed over his vision, blinding him.  He remembered how his heart jolted, fight or flight kicking in (and _boy_ did flying look so good).  Remembered his last thought--”Thank God Phil won’t see this”--before everything went hazy, blurred around the edges like the night he and Phil spent in Mexico with a couple bottles of tequila.  The blue-eyed demon had smiled at him and for another heart-stopping moment Clint was sure he could feel him poking around in his mind, searching his loyalties.  

‘No, not Phil.’

He was helpless to keep the man out, though the god was eager to skip over what he thought was an inconsequential human, peeking instead at the files Clint had subconsciously stored of the Director, who was preoccupied with loading the tesseract into the case.

As soon as Clint’s mind registered it Loki turned, swift and silent enough to make the Hawk envious.  There was more talking, mostly between Loki and the Director, as Clint’s now blue-glazed eyes took in the tesseract’s power building at the top of the domed building.  He mentioned that, reading Fury’s body posture in a matter of seconds because damn him for having analyzed and spent so much time around the man.  Fury’s gaze was nearly empty save for the sliver of betrayal that only Clint had eyes fast enough to see.  

It made his shot miss, hitting Fury in the chest and not the head.  

It forced his bullet to ricochet off the wall rather than plunge itself into Maria’s gut.

‘Thank God Phil isn’t here.’

* * *

The next he remembered it was cold, wet, and it reeked of mold and rats long having decayed in the tunnels leading to the lair.  He hated it, agreeing wholeheartedly when Loki showed such disdain for hiding underground, for burrowing in the earth.  The Hawk wants to be free, high enough to see everything and gain a clear perspective.  Some distance.  This close-up was killing him, even as Loki called him for him to follow the demigod deeper into the tunnels.  They made it far away from all the others when the black-haired man rounded on him.  

“Tell me what you know.”  His voice was deep, authoritative as it sank into Clint’s skull, splitting his head wide open to divulge information even he wasn’t sure how he knew.  He explained Captain’s honor and the origins of the super hero, Tony’s snark and sass hiding much more than just an ego the size of the Titanic but a whole slew of daddy issues that even made Loki’s eyes widen.  He detailed Natasha and his experiences with her, how her tongue was just as sharp and electric as the stings she deployed without a moment’s hesitation.  He knew little to nothing about Thor, though it hardly seemed to bother Loki, and Banner was just as much of a mystery.  The only advice was that he better not piss the scientist off, and Loki arched a brow at the warning.  

“Are you mocking me?”  He leveled his eyes on Clint’s as he started to stalk towards the archer.  

Like a good soldier Clint stood his ground, his eyes blank as they stared into the god’s. “No, sir.”  

“What else do you know?  Tell me all.”

He swallowed hard and started on Sitwell, the agent’s preferences and skills, Maria and her ingenuity and strength; she was a pillar to all who worked underneath her.  “The agents are not what you should be worried about, sir.”  It was only half a lie and Loki knew it.  

His finger was light when it first caressed Clint’s upper arm, sending an involuntary shiver up the archer’s spine.  His eyes never wavered, though, not even when Loki’s fist slugged him across the jaw.  If he had used any more force it might have split it into pieces; as it was he’d have a hell of a bruise.  

“I know when you lie to me, Clint Francis Barton.  Do not think to trick the trickster.”  His voice was no more than a whisper in Clint’s ear, and already he could see the tortures Loki has planned for him.  Natasha’s body bloodied and broken, her blue eyes caught on his as he’s forced to commit unspeakable atrocities to her.  

Thank God he doesn’t know--.

“It won’t happen again, sir.”

“Now, tell me everything.”

Phil was the next agent that Clint had to discuss, and Loki knew it so there was no getting around it.  He detailed how close they worked, their handler-handled relationship one that raised quite a few eyebrows at Shield.  Not that either of them gave a damn.  Loki seemed disappointed, as if having expected much more.  He turned from Clint, fingers clenching and unclenching, as though unfamiliar with their emptiness.  From where he stood Clint could have dismembered him without breaking a sweat.

Well, maybe a small sweat.  This man was a god after all.

“Is he a threat?  This Philip, son of Coul?”

“No.”

Yes.  And you’d better run because once he finds out you’ve got me--.

“Not a threat at all.  He’s just a desk agent--doesn’t know a thing about field work.”

The lie passed his lips without a hitch (so seamless Natasha would be proud), and had it not been for his training he might have jumped at the realization.  Loki seemed in his own world, eyes glazed over and lips mumbling a conversation in a language Clint couldn’t begin to decipher.  He basked in his victory and the edges slowly began to clear.  

It took one look at him, once Loki was out of his trance, to put him back under it again.  

* * *

Phil wasn’t in Germany, not that Clint was there for long, either, but he heard Natasha’s voice on the quinjet comm and felt his heart sink.  He dreaded what Loki had in store for them, knowing the next time he’d see them would be the next day when he breached the ship.  The orders had just left his lips, called out to those who followed without question, to get back to their base as he heard the noise of Loki’s scepter firing, presumably at the jet.  Clint couldn’t quite help the quake that skittered up his knees.

* * *

Notphilnotphilnotphilnotphil.  He repeated the mantra as his strode down the catwalk, bow in hand, the mind control beginning to fray around the edges.  The corners were sharpening, shadows revealing their depth, and he had a split second to pull back an arrow and loose it just to the right of Natasha’s face, able to force himself to miss as she shifted him to the side.  The ease with which she avoided his every attack, deflecting and spinning until he was bowless and resorting to a knife was ridiculous.  He’d never be a match for her up close, and had he been in his rational mind he might have been able to get to a safe distance and take the shot.

That would never happen.  

The knife pressed closer to her throat and her teeth sunk into his flesh as he pulled her hair to try and make her stop.  One last kick, twist, and everything went near black.  

“Tasha?”  Where’s Phil?

* * *

Even though he’d been doing well at fighting Loki’s mind control bullshit it seemed to take forever for him to level out.  He’d stare at Natasha and see her face bloodied, horrified and eyes bleeding pain as she felt him drive a knife into her ribs as Loki had wanted him to.  The bastard was sick, and it didn’t surprise Clint in the least that the sorcerer had at least one rape fantasy up his sleeve, though he never seemed to want to get his hands dirty.  Bastard.  Natasha’s terrified face morphed quickly to Phil’s, eyes blown wide in shock and mouth leaking blood as he stared at Clint.

No.

No, please, not that.  

He shook his head, bit back at Natasha’s comment.

“Clint you’ve gotta level out.”

What the fuck did she know about leveling out?  She’d never been through this--she’d never endured what, thought about what.  No.  She had.  She above all others would understand.  

She and--.

“You ever had someone take your mind and play?”

“You know I have.”

He swallowed hard, thanked her when she released his arms from the bindings at his sides.  His eyes sought out hers, find them safe.  Familiar.  He knew the woman in front of him, knew that he could not hurt her now.  

“How many agents--.”

“Don’t do that.  Don’t do that to yourself Clint.”  

But he needed to know.  He licked his lips, about to ask her about the only agent he gave a damn about when she cut him off.  Her eyes were all the warning he needed, and he was tempted to bury his head into his hands and never come back.  Nest.  Hide.  Keep himself off the radar until he’d been  forgotten and he was allowed to live his life without having to think about what that pain shining in her eyes meant.  

What he wouldn’t give to go back under again.  

He supposed he’d settle for revenge.  

* * *

He didn’t find out until they were eating, and even with a belly full of food that had tasted delicious and filling just seconds ago his contentment evaporated as Tony raised his glass and whispered Phil’s name, the title ‘Agent’ spoken with such a reverence that if Clint had been anyone else he might have blushed (and that was not okay because only _he_ was allowed to say it like that, and only on special occasions.  This was not one of them.)

“What--.”

“During the hellicarrier attack,” Steve filled him in with a quiet whisper, thinking it might help him to know that he had nothing to do with it.  Except everything.  “Loki got to him as he had broken out of his cell.”

Natasha’s glare was fierce enough to kill the rest of Steve’s words.  

Everything went black after that.

* * *

Forty-eight hours later Clint remembered how to breathe.  Blink.  See.  His sight was what came first as it focused on a very pale, sickly white patient in the infirmary.  They told him he was alive, but this man was not Phil.  Couldn’t they see that?  Phil was the man who sat on the seat beside the bed, bossing the doctors around until they ran like chickens with their heads cut off.  Phil was the one who brought his paperwork and hummed his disapproval when he found a mistake in Clint’s report.  

Phil was not the one supposed to be laying down in the bed, looking as though the Grim Reaper had already taken him to Agent Heaven where the paperwork was error-free, turned in on time, and the coffee was provided on an IV drip.  

He blinked those beautiful, damnable grey-blue eyes up at him.  

The sound came next, whirling back as Clint collapsed into the seat beside the bed.  The beep of the machine had never sounded so sweet and he thought, very briefly, about kissing it.  About walking down the aisle to that noise with this other, stupid, brave idiot on the other side--.

He was getting ahead of himself.

“Bout time.”  He choked, his hand finding Phil’s, squeezing tight enough to forget about the weak grip coming from the other end.  The Agent’s laugh was weak but definitely Phil.  It was enough to bring Clint to tears.  

* * *

“Clint?”

Phil.

He turned in his nest to look at the dapper gentleman coming towards him, the corner of his lips twisted in an understanding smile. He extended one hand to his lover, the callouses as familiar now as they were the day Phil came back to him.  Clint took the extended hand and let Phil help him out of his nest and help him out of the toxic waters of his mind.  The air is clearer out, now, as though it was his first breath of air from having nearly drowned.  It’s all Phil, distinctly him, his aftershave and coffee breath and the only thing Clint wants to smell for the rest of his life as he pressed his lips to the agent’s.  

Don’t ever leave me again.

It didn’t need to be said, was instead felt between the two, as they climbed down and walked hand in hand and fingers interlocked back down to their room.  

 


End file.
